


Holidays are Elementary

by Inuseiko



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Reader Insert, Reader-Insert, Smut, commission, for his sake, fundraiser collection, i meant to drabble this...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:24:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3310613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inuseiko/pseuds/Inuseiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You were really just out on vacation... so how the hell did this happen???</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fresh Off The Tarmac

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rachelrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachelrose/gifts).



> a work done for an amazing person who donated to Otis's surgery fund.
> 
> I meant to drabble but I tripped and fic'ced...I was too grateful, sigh...

You stood nervously in the large office, looking around at all of the different commendations and awards. You flopped back into the nearest chair with a sigh, staring at the empty seat across from you. You couldn’t believe that you were actually here…at Scotland Yard. Granted, you were in the building as a witness to a crime, but still. This was definitely the most exciting place you had been away from home. A knock at the door made you jump.

“Hi, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

You spun around to find a tall, confident man standing in the doorway. He stepped forward with his hand extended.

“Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade.”

“Ah, yes, (f/n), (f/n) (l/n). Nice to meet you.”

“Please, you didn’t have to stand. Can I get you a coffee?” he asked, sitting in his high backed chair.

“No, I’m fine.” You answered.

“Right. So, I understand that you witnessed a crime last night.” Lestrade asked, pulling out a pen and notepad.

“Yes, I was taking a walk through a park after dinner,” you said slowly. “when I heard a gunshot.” Lestrade frowned.

“Do you remember the name of the park?” he asked, writing furiously.

“It was Russell…Russell something…” You frowned, trying furiously to remember its name. The cell phone on Lestrade’s desk went off, vibrating once before falling silent. He gave it a glance.

“Russell Square Gardens?” he supplied.

“Yes! That was it! I had gone out for a walk. It was actually my first day in the city, so I bought some fish and chips and took a stroll. It was such a romantic place. And the fish and chips, they really do wrap them in newspaper!” you said, laughing excitedly. Lestrade chuckled. You looked up at him, curious.

“Sorry, it’s just, we get that a lot.” He said. His phone vibrated again, drawing his attention. “So what did you do when you heard the gunshot?”

“I went toward it. I have some medical training, and I wanted to see if I could help in any way.” Lestrade’s phone buzzed again. He groaned and looked at the screen.

“Why don’t you ask for yourself, if you know so bloody well?” He muttered.

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing, sorry.” Lestrade sighed and scratched his head. “So, you said you went towards it?”

“Most people run away from the sound of a gunshot.” You turned at the sound of another voice in the room.

The man in the doorway stared evenly at you. You paused, looking him up and down. He was tall, that was the first thing you’d noticed. The second was his eyes. They were blue, or maybe green, it was a bit hard to tell. Either way he had a beautiful face. You briefly wondered if anyone had ever cut themselves on those cheekbones.

“What?” you asked.

“Did you not hear me or do you just not understand the question? You’re clearly American, so I know you speak English.” He said, still watching you with those piercing eyes.

To be quite honest, you weren’t sure what to say. This man had come out of nowhere, first interrogating and then insulting you.

“I heard you just fine.” You said. “I’m just wondering why you think I would tell you anything? Who are you? And how did you know I was American?” The man gave a weary sigh.

“You commented on the fish and chips being wrapped in newspaper. While the dish is also served in America, it’s served on a platter. Your watch is also set to the current time of the United States eastern seaboard.” He said.

“Oh for Christ’s sake…You bugged my office again!” Lestrade shouted.

“Adding that to the fact that yesterday was your first day in the city,” The man continued, ignoring Lestrade’s outburst. “and the fact that there have only been 3 flights from the eastern United States in the last 48 hours and it was quite obvious. Judging by your accent, I’d say New York or New Jersey.”

“I-Wha-How? Who are you?” you sputtered, staring at him.

“I’m Sherlock Holmes. I’m a consulting detective. This is my partner, John Watson.” He said, gesturing to a shorter man who had entered the room during his speech.

“I…see?”

“Hmm, you didn’t repeat me like some idiotic parrot. I suppose you might have a brain after all.”

“Thanks…I think?” you said dryly, watching as he strode confidently across the room, perching on the desk in front of you.

“Sherlock, you can’t just keep walking in here like this.” John said.

“Of course I can John, Gerrold was going to call us anyway.” Sherlock said, eyes still trained on you. You were beginning to feel a bit like a bug under a microscope.

“It’s Greg, Sherlock.” Lestrade said exasperatedly. “You know that. And why would I call you for this? The report said that there was no body found. She’s only here because you said I should check up with the witness again.”

“Wrong again, Garth.” Sherlock said, folding his hands and pressing them under his chin. “She’s here because I wanted to know what a DIA agent is doing here in London, acting like a simple tourist.”


	2. First Impressions Aren't Always Fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commission for an amazing person who donated to Otis's surgery fund.

Out of all of the things you had expected this… Sherlock to say, that wasn’t one of them. Sure, guessing your accent made sense if he was a detective, same thing with the flights. And since he pretty much admitted to bugging Lestrade’s office that explained the food comment as well. But you had never said anything about your job. Not to anyone. You fixed Sherlock with a flat gaze, taking your turn to examine him. You looked past his features, shifting into your work mode. You studied his stance, his clothes, and his gaze, anything that could give the slightest clue to his thoughts. You used all of your experience to learn…nothing. Absolutely nothing. The man was a blank slate.

This Sherlock Holmes was now a threat.

“You’re the detective Mr. Holmes… Why don’t you tell me?” you said coolly. His lips twitched into a smile.

“Suddenly so defensive, Ms.(l/n).” he murmured. “Do you have something to hide?”

“I have nothing to hide, Mr. Holmes, although now I remember why your name sounded so familiar.” You noted the slightest flaring of his nostrils. So he was interested in what you knew about him, huh? It seemed that Sherlock Holmes was a bit vain. “Yes… I don’t pay much attention to news from the UK, not my section. But I do remember some colleagues talking about a dead detective who used to wear a ridiculous hat, although it appears that the rumors of your death have been greatly exaggerated. My apologies Mr. Holmes, I didn’t recognize you without your deerstalker.” You allowed yourself a small smile as his faded away. It wasn’t much to speak of, but it was a point for you either way.

“Not to cut into your snarkfest with the American, Freak, but I need to speak to Lestrade. Surely you can continue this pathetic attempt at seduction elsewhere.”

You turn to find a dark skinned woman staring distastefully at you from the doorway. You’re not quite sure what you did to antagonize her, but you dislike her already. Sherlock hopped off the desk headed to the door.

“Well it’s not like we were getting much done here, the air of incompetence was stifling my thoughts. We’ll take her back to Baker Street with us. It’s not like you would be able to use any of the information she had anyway, Donovan. By the way, you’re wrong. That case you’re working on was a suicide. Stop harassing the boyfriend. Bring her along John.” Sherlock called as he swept past the woman, out of the office. You just watched him go, feeling vaguely like you’d been pulled into a hurricane.

A hand on your shoulder snapped you back to attention. You looked up to find John staring kindly down at you.

“Sorry about him, Sherlock has that effect on people.” He explained. You stood, casting a last look at Lestrade, but he had already moved to the side to confer with his…partner? Subordinate? You sighed, leaving the office with John at your side.

“Is he always such an asshole?” you grumbled, stuffing your hands into your pockets. John laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. “I want to punch him in his face…”

“He…has that effect on people, as well.”

The apartment at 221B Baker Street, flat, they called them flats here, was very cozy. It was colorful with filled bookshelves and a single cluttered desk. There was even a…skull… on the mantle. While you found that exceedingly strange, you figured that it was better not to ask.

You settled into the chair that John pointed out to you, smiling gratefully. Sherlock sat in the chair opposite you, leaning forward in a similar pose as before, hands steepled under his chin. You frowned and stared back at him, determined to not say a word to the rude brit.

“So tell us about the murdered man.” Sherlock said. You raised an eyebrow, staying silent. This seemed to annoy the man. “Really, the silent treatment? I was under the impression that we were all adults here.” You blinked slowly at him, head cocked to one side. Sherlock snorted. “How childish.”

“Look, Ms. (l/n), we don’t mean to pry into your personal business.” John said, setting a cup of tea at your side. “We’d just like to know about the man you helped.”

“There’s not much to say, Mr. Watson.” You answered, ignoring Sherlock’s indignant look. “I-”

“Oh really, you’re ignoring me?”

“-heard a gunshot and headed towards the sound. I withdrew my pistol and entered the alley across from the park. Inside, I found a man on the ground. Upon closer inspection, I noted that he had been shot. He was still conscious, so I took off my jacket to apply pressure to his wound. I hadn’t had a chance to get a card for my phone to work in London, so I had to go find help. The man was lucid enough to apply pressure on the wound, so I headed to the mouth of the alley to find someone and inform the police. I was only got for a few minutes, but when I came back, he was gone. The only thing left was a blood trail that tapered off into nothing at the back of a dead end alleyway. He was alive when I left him”

“Was there anything else that you remember?” Sherlock demanded. You reached for your tea cup and sipped slowly, examining the tiny cat shaped tea ball in your cup. “Oh for the love of- John!”

“Please,” John asked, clearly fighting back a laugh. “Is there anything else that you can remember about the scene?”

“I really am sorry, Mr. Watson,” you said, batting your eyelashes at him. “but that’s all I remember. I really am in the country for vacation. I just finished a very work intensive assignment, so they gave me the next three weeks off as a reward.”

“I see, have you decided on where you’d like to go?” John asked.

“No, not yet. I’m still just wandering. I’ll probably pick up a few travel brochures. Unless you’d like to show me around?”

“Oh save your breathe, he’s happily married.” Sherlock scoffed. You noticed the glittering band on John’s finger and gasped.

“I didn’t see the ring before. I’m so sorry!” You said, looking away shyly.

“It’s alright. I’m flattered, really.” John laughed.

“Besides, you aren’t his type anyway.”

“Sherlock!” John gasped “How rude!”

“No, its fine. I’m definitely starting to see what you meant about his punchability.” You said through clenched teeth.

“I don’t see what you’re upset for, John. You aren’t her type either. She’s just looking for a man to end her sexless streak.” Sherlock said, walking into the kitchen. You inhaled quickly in surprise, choking on your tea. You could dimly make out the sounds of John choking on his biscuit, in the background.

“Excuse me?!?” You wheezed, glaring daggers at the indifferent consulting detective.

“Oh,” he said, watching you from the corner of his eye. “are you speaking to me now? Well fine… You have all the classic signs of a repressed woman, you spent most of the cab ride back evaluating men from the window, not to mention the way you looked at John and I when you first met us. You probably even gave Lestrade the once over.”

“I most certainly did not!” You said, setting down your saucer.

“You referred to Russell Square Gardens as romantic. Although I hardly see anything romantic about some benches and trees. Not to mention” Sherlock said, walking toward you with slow, measured steps, platter in hand. “the fact that you haven’t actually said anything to deny it… Biscuit?”

He was staring at you, his entire being practically radiating smugness. God…you really wanted to punch him. He acted like he knew everything about you. You looked down at the tray of cookies, contemplating your next move. Then you realized, you were on vacation, you didn’t have to take any of his crap. There was no superior officer breathing down your neck. You smiled as you stood.

“Thanks for the tea, Mr. Watson, it was very delicious.” You answered. John looked confused as he watched you take a cookie from the proffered tray.

“Ah yes, of course. Our pleasure.” John said, stepping forward to shake your hand. “So you’re leaving?”

“Yes, I’ve given you all of the information that I had, so I’m going to continue my vacation.”

“Right, well thanks for your help.” He said, walking you to the door.

“Anytime.” You pause in the doorway. “Although Mr. Holmes, now that I think about it, there was something that I forgot earlier.”

“What?” Sherlock asked, crossing the room quickly to stand in front of you. “Tell me. Anything you can think of.” You reached into your pocket, withdrawing a matchbox.

“I found this on the ground next to where he had been lying. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.” You passed the bloody packet to John.

“Perfect! John, look up the address of the nightclub. You!” he said, snapping his finger in your face. “You can leave.” You felt your eyebrow twitch in irritation.

“Mr. Holmes, there was one more thing.” You added, smiling sweetly.

“What is it now? I’m b-“

Watching him stagger back, clutching at his bleeding nose felt very satisfying. You left 221B feeling better than you had in ages….


	3. Not Completely Tactless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commission for an amazing person who donated to Otis's surgery fund.

The sound of pounding at your door made you groan. You didn’t wanna answer it, it was gonna be him again. You would think that the way your first meeting had ended would have made it clear how you felt about him…. Apparently, according to John, being punched was nothing new. John had done so after the whole faked death thing… It had only made him more interested in you. He had pounded on your door at ungodly hours every morning for the last two weeks. He had insisted on dragging you on case after case, to “alleviate his boredom”.

You don’t even know how he’d managed to find your hotel in the first place! The man was arrogant, self-absorbed, overconfident and a complete and total ass! Just 2 days ago, he’d nearly gotten you shot! If it hadn’t been for John’s excellent marksmanship, you probably wouldn’t be here now. You’d be in a hospital, or worse. And he hadn’t even apologized! He’d just walked off like nothing happened.

Well not today. Today you had a date with your bed and the two of you were going to be intertwined all day long. You groaned as your phone began to beep. You grabbed it off the dresser without raising your head.

**Open the door.**

It was him, rude as usual.

**(f/n), open the door.**

He was joking if he thought you were moving even an inch.

**This is incredibly childish of you.**

You set the phone to silent and rolled over, ignoring the flashing lights.

**We are wasting valuable time.**

**Do not go back to sleep.**

**You are being ridiculous.**

**I’m coming in.**

“You’ve wasted the whole day in that bed.”

You groaned as you buried your head under your pillow.

“Go away.”

“We have a case.”

“No, you have a case. I have a nap. Or I will have, once you leave.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock scoffed. “there’s no point in spending time in such a boring place.” You huffed as you felt a weight sink down on the side of the bed.

“Go away Holmes. You’ve stolen enough of my vacation.” You growled. The man was infuriating. “You’ve already solved the crime, you just want an audience.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, (f/n). Your skills are essential to solving this case.”

“I’m not moving. I’ve faced death more times with you in the last three weeks than I have in the last three years! And why are you here with me anyway? Where’s John?”

“He’s at the doctor with Mary, undoubtedly cooing over an ultrasound.” You felt another thump and then Sherlock’s voice was louder. It was clear he wasn’t going to go away, but at least he accepted that you weren’t getting up. The sound of dialing numbers came from your left. “Lestrade, go to 14 Northumberland Street, the flat on the second floor. You’ll find him attempting to leave the country with a dark blue suitcase. Her body is inside.” The phone clicked and was followed by a loud smash against the wall. Judging by the frustrated groan from beside you, it was probably his phone. “Boooooored. I’m booooored.” You clutched the pillow tighter before giving up with a sigh.

“Fine…How did he do it, Sherlock?” you asked, taking the pillow off of your head and tucking it under your head and folded arms. He was pouting. Sherlock Holmes, possibly the greatest mind of the modern age, was pouting like a child on your bed.

“Doesn’t matter, it’s over now and I’m bored.”

“Sherlock….” You sighed. “Fine, we can go get lunch. I haven’t eaten anything yet anyway.” You started to get up and froze. In your determination to relax in bed, you’d gotten comfortable. Very comfortable. Way to comfortable to just stand up right now. “Uh, go wait for me outside. I’ll be ready in five minutes.” Sherlock scoffed, turning his head to watch you.

“If you’re trying to hide your state of undress, don’t bother.” You froze, staring at him. “What? It was obvious by the way you wrapped your sheets. Plus, you left your underthings on the edge of the bed. Didn’t peg you for pink lace though. I thought you would’ve preferred something more comfortable, less fashionable.” You closed your eyes, gritting your teeth as you reminded yourself to keep calm. If there was one thing you had learned about Sherlock Holmes, it was the fact that for all of his irritating assholery, he genuinely had no idea he was being insulting. You counted back from three in your head.

“Yes, yes,” you said, rubbing your face vigorously. “I understand that the great Sherlock Holmes is immune to the sight of the female form. But that doesn’t mean that I feel comfortable dressing in front of you.”

“What makes you say that?” Sherlock asked.

“Say what?” you asked, looking at him wearily. He was watching you with a frown. Peering down at you with those gorgeous eyes. You closed your eyes and turned away, determined not to get caught in their abyssal ocean depths. God knows what he would say if he caught you staring.

“That I’m indifferent to women’s bodies. John used to say that as well.” You blinked, sitting up a little straighter.

“Used to?” you asked. Now this was interesting. Had something happened to John to change his mind?

“Yes. Why is that?” Sherlock asked, leaning closer. Your eyes widened as you leaned away, wrapping the sheets tighter around your chest.

“I don’t know.” You said hastily, looking away. “You just give off the impression of not being attracted to anyone. Or anything.” Sherlock huffed and sat up.

“That’s ridiculous, I’m perfectly capable of perceiving attraction. I just choose not to. Its distracting and feelings make things unnecessarily complicated.”

“That’s surprising.” You murmured.

“Why?”

“Well at first, I figured that someone like you would enjoy sexual stuff.” You said with an awkward shrug.   

“What do you mean?”

“Well…the variety of it. The fact that no two people can be pleasured in the exact same way. I figured that you’d have considered it to be the ultimate Rubik’s cube. Or at the very least, a temporary cure for boredom.” You answered, laying back down. There was no reply from Sherlock. A glance from the corner of your eye showed that he appeared to be thinking. Something you’d said had actually set him to thinking. You mentally groaned as you realized that lunch was most likely postponed. There was nothing left to do but make yourself comfortable in your bed.

“Have sex with me.” You froze when you heard the words. There was no way in hell that you could’ve heard those words exit Sherlock Holmes’ mouth. A beat passed and then another. “I know you aren’t asleep.”

“No…” you said slowly, meeting the detective’s eyes. “I’m awake. I was just wondering if my ears were working, because I thought I heard you say to have sex with you.”

“I did.”

“Why? What in the world makes you think I’d say yes to that?”

“Plenty of reasons. You find me attractive, you’re curious about the level of my sexual experience. You haven’t had sex for an extended period of time. You came here to have a romantic and sexual encounter with a stranger during your vacation. Shall I go on?

“No!” you cleared your throat. “No, there’s no need. I- have you even had sex before?”

“Of course I have.” Sherlock said. You groaned and buried your smile in your pillow.

“Sherlock, Please don’t tell me you were researching the worth of having an orgasm or something.” You said with a laugh. “Because even I know that couldn’t have gone well for you.” The man was way too obsessed with thinking to enjoy that sort of short term brain shutdown by itself.

“It was a singularly unimpressive experience.” Sherlock said. He had your phone and was clearly busy surfing the internet.  When did he manage to get your phone? And for that matter, how did he get inside it? Then again, why were you even surprised? “I can’t see why men waste so much time in their pursuit of it.”

“And what did your partner think?” you asked. You rolled your eyes at his puzzled look. “Sherlock, you’re taking this a little too literally. Yeah there are some guys who go into sex for the physical aspect of getting off. But-” You paused. “But…Sherlock can you turn around?”

“You’re joking.” He drawled. “I thought eye contact was an important part of conversation.”

“Don’t be a jerk, Sherlock. I don’t usually go around talking to guys while I’m stark naked.” He sighed deeply but rolled over, facing the wall. “Thank you. Now like I was saying, any guy who actually knows what he’s doing in bed derives his enjoyment from how well he can please his partner.”

“That makes no sense.”

“What? Why doesn’t it make sense?”

“I can’t see how it would matter. Unless the man was a sadist.”

“That’s because you’ve never had sex with someone you cared about. Or even remotely liked, for that matter…Its fun making someone you like happy. John always tries to find you cases because he likes seeing you happy.” You muttered.

“I don’t think John is into men…”

“That’s not what I meant!” You groaned.

“So have sex with me.”

“Sherlock, what did I just say?”

“I don’t hate you.” You looked up at Sherlock. His expression was completely sincere. You snorted. “What? You’re significantly smarter than most of the idiots I have to deal with on a daily basis. Still an idiot compared to me, but you’re almost as tolerable as John.”

“Gee, thanks…” you muttered, rolling over. “Sherlock, if we aren’t going to eat lunch, I’m going back to sleep. You’re being ridiculous.”

“I ordered room service. They’ll bring it to the room in an hour.” You jolted at the feel of a hand on your hip.

“Holmes.” you warned. You shivered as his hand slid up to your shoulder. He gripped it lightly as he turned you to face him. “This is weird, even for you.”

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” He murmured, looking deep into your eyes. You wanted to move away but your body felt frozen in place. You trembled as you shut your eyes. The first press of his lips against yours was barely a brush. He pulled away slightly before surging forward again, crushing his lips against yours. You whined as you opened your eyes. He was looking down at you, gaze direct and piercing. He was propped up on one arm, the other still stroking your side.

The feel of his fingers brushing the edge of the blanket was distracting. His fingertips would brush against the uncovered slips of skin, nails dragging softly to drive your senses wild.

“All you have to do is say no.” He whispered, burying his face into your neck. He peppered the area with kisses, sucking lightly as he held you beneath him. You bit your lip, trying to keep silent as he worked your body into a fever. The feel of his teeth against your pulse made you cry out. “There?” he chuckled. “I see…” He sank his teeth into you over and over, seemingly relishing your trembling cries. “You cry out when I touch you there. But you try to fight it as well.” You raised a hand to press to your mouth but he snatched it away. “No, you were right. I can see merit in this. I wonder where else I can touch you to make you sound like that.”

“Sherlock.” You moaned, reaching for him. He leaned back out of your reach, straddling your hips. He captured your hand in his, tugging them both up over your head. He pinned both of your hands in one of his, dragging his free hand down your neck to the swell of your breast.

 

You gasped as his thumb traced a path over your covered nipple. He fit his hand loosely over your breast, watching your face. His eyes glittered as he watched the expressions play over your face.

“Sherlock, please!” you cried. He leaned in close, capturing your lips. The taste of him dizzied your senses, leaving you yearning deep inside. He pulled back slightly to trail a finger over the edge of the sheet.

“This is your last chance.” he whispered. You shuddered at the timbre of his voice, feeling like you were sinking into a sinful abyss. He paused for a moment more, gathering the sheet slowly into his hand. He watched you as he tugged it down inch by inch, not stopping until your chest was bare before him. You shut your eyes, too embarrassed to watch him look upon your body for the first time. You expected words, a comment on your sizes, a note on your imperfections, any snarky comment, something to show his frame of mind. But there was none, nothing but silence.

 

The first sweep of his tongue caught you by surprise. The heat of him on your flesh, followed by the cool air, caused your nipples to stiffen almost instantly. He kept at it, alternating between one and the other. You squirmed, arching against his tongue, chasing the feelings he was stirring within you.

 

You dimly felt his body shift against yours, moving away and then back. The breeze against your legs brought your mind back to reality. Your eyes snapped open wide as you tried to bring your arms down to cover yourself. But he held fast, easily trapping you with his strength.

 

“You’re embarrassed again.” he said, frowning. “I don’t understand why. I doubt there was anything wrong with my technique. I made sure to increase your body’s sensitivity with light touches. I also touched the places that seemed to give you the most pleasure in order to increase your heart rate.” You blinked slowly, the heat in your body slowing your comprehension of his words. When your brain caught up to the rest of you, you wanted to laugh.

 

“It’s because I’m nervous, Sherlock.” you said, trying to put aside the delicious feeling that he was causing with his arms. He was still holding you beneath him. Although he had stopped moving, his free hand rested atop your stomach. The heat of it made you want to squirm. “Like you so frequently enjoy reminding me, it’s...been a while.” Sherlock was silent, letting his eyes roam over your uncovered body. He seemed to think a bit before giving a snort.

 

“Fine.” he said. You paused, confused.

 

“Fine?” you echoed.

  
“Yes, fine.” he acknowledged. “If you’re nervous, I’ll take your mind off of it.” You opened your mouth to protest, to question him. But he pressed his body closer to yours, working his mouth against yours until you could barely think at all. You kissed his back for all you were worth, straining against his hold. You bucked your hips at the first drag of his fingers over you. “You’re wet,” he growled. You gasped as his teeth dragged over the curve of your collarbone. The slow torture of his fingers pressing against your clit drove the air from your lungs. You wanted to beg but you couldn’t form the words.

 

“Sherlock!” you cried. He hushed you, pressing his forehead against yours.

 

“I like the sound of your voice when I touch you like this.” he said. You shivered as you felt his tongue lave over one of your bites. “I like the way you look with my name on your flesh.” He kissed a trail down, from your neck to the flat of your belly. “I want to hear your voice when I make you cum. I think I’ll like that too…” He released your arms to slide open your thighs. You arched up against his mouth. It was so hot, you felt like you were burning from the inside out. You clutched at his head, burying your hands in his messy curls. He didn’t fight your grip just tugged you closer. His movements against you started out smoothly, delicate trails of his tongue against your pearl, like he was writing cursive on your body. Then the strokes became rougher, hungrier. He hiked your legs up higher, pressing your knees against your stomach. You gasped and sobbed, rocking your hips against his mouth with helpless little motions. The end came quickly, almost painfully, you shouted his name, heedless of the other guests in the hotel.

 

You fell back against the bed, mind completely blank. The solid slide of skin against yours drew your mind back to consciousness. He was naked. Completely, gloriously, naked. You watched him as he fussed with the condom, pressing one last kiss to your hip as he slid up your body. You wrapped your arms around his neck, rolling your hips as the heavy length of him pressed against you.

 

He swore against your neck as he joined with you, squeezing hard at your hips. He fucked like he did everything else, roughly, tactlessly, but with an underlying grace and purpose. Every thrust pressed against the most sensitive spots inside you while he watched you face for even the most minute changes. He brought you over the edge quickly, almost violently, hips working hard against yours.

 

You whispered his name at your finish, dragging your nails down his back as he worked over you. He groaned, leaning forward. He pressed his lips hard against yours, tongue devouring you ravenously. His grip on you flexed in time with his thrusts, his precision giving way to speed and urgency. He buried his face in the curve of your throat as he came to completion, muffling his hoarse shout into your flesh.

 

The moments after were silent, save for his panting and the sound of your heart beating out of control. He rolled to the side, taking you with him, pressing your head to his chest. You fell asleep to the sound of the heart he swore he didn’t have.


	4. Soaring To A New Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commission for an amazing person who donated to Otis's surgery fund.

Sherlock was gone when you awoke. The room service containers on your dresser and the condom in the garbage can were the only evidence that it hadn’t been a dream. You didn’t run into him at all that last week. You kept expecting him to bang on your door, demanding that you follow him onto another deadly adventure. But it never happened. So you continued your vacation. You saw Big Ben, walked through Piccadilly Circus, had lunch in Chinatown, and you had even passed by 221B Baker Street once. You slowed at the sound of a violin through the opened window, but you didn’t stop, and you definitely didn’t go in.

 

You got a letter from the home office on the last day of your vacation. You knew without looking that it contained plane tickets to the location of your next assignment, the one that you had chosen to postpone for your vacation. So you headed to Heathrow Airport. You passed through security without incident, eating junk food while you sat at your gate. You sighed as they called your flight to begin boarding. You opened the envelope looking at the details of the first ticket. There was a thick letter as well, but you figured that you could review it on the plane.

 

Your vacation had felt more like work than play, but...you couldn’t help feeling a little unfulfilled now that it was over. You hadn’t gotten the chance to say goodbye to John or Mrs. Hudson. They had left your life just as suddenly as they entered. You were walking through the boarding line when you heard a familiar voice.

 

“Of course I have a ticket, don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have one.”

 

“Sherlock, don’t make it worse! Gentlemen, we really do have valid tickets for this flight.” The second voice was a calm voice. A reasonable voice that had been imbued with infinite patience through contact with one of the most irritating men alive. You looked up to see John Hamish Watson standing between Sherlock and two rather angry boarding attendants. “Our associate is meeting us here with them. In the meantime, here are our passports.” Sherlock turned away with a huff, spotting you almost immediately. In retrospect, you probably stood out, considering the fact that you had been frozen there, gaping at him.

 

“There you are! What took you so long?” Sherlock snapped, stalking over to you.

“I-I-huh?” you stammered. You yelped as Sherlock snatched the envelope from your hands and grabbed your arm, dragging you back to the angry agents.

 

“Here, three tickets to Harbin. Like I said.”

 

You watched wordlessly as Sherlock pulled two more tickets out of the folded letter, pressing the envelope and papers back into your hands. The agents looked over the tickets before scanning them, reluctantly waving you all through the final checkpoint. You followed after the two blankly, watching John lecture Sherlock about being more polite to people. He turned to you with a smile.

 

“Hello (f/n), did you enjoy the rest of your vacation?” He seemed delighted by your nod. “That’s wonderful! I spent the last few days keeping Sherlock busy so that you could have a little time for yourself.”  Oh, you thought to yourself.

 

“Oh,” you said. “Thanks. I really did enjoy my sightseeing.” You stood up a little straighter, frowning. “Not that I’m not happy to see you again, but what are you doing here?” John gave you a puzzled look.

 

“Sherlock didn’t tell you?” he asked. “The DIA asked Sherlock to investigate a case alongside one of their agents. It turns out that the man you had found your first night here was an internationally known criminal. He stole something that we really need to get back.”

 

“How could I, John?” Sherlock drawled. “What with you running interference for the last week, it’s a wonder we were able to catch her at the gate.”

 

“Ah. Well how was I supposed to know?” John protested. “You could have simply texted her, you didn’t have to keep trying to go to her hotel room!”

 

“Honestly John. Sometimes you are unbelievably dense. Did it ever occur to you that I could have had other business to attend to there?” Sherlock asked.

 

“Like what, Sherlock?” John said with a snort. “What could you possibly have needed from her at those ridiculous hours of the morning?” You bit your lip, turning away so that John wouldn’t see you smile. But you didn’t turn quickly enough. “What? (f/n), what’s so funny?” You shook your head, walking faster to pass John and Sherlock. “Sherlock, what’s going on?”

 

You found your seats easily enough, they were in first class. You had the window seat and Sherlock had the aisle next to you. John had the aisle seat right across from Sherlock.

 

“So did you read the letter yet?” Sherlock asked. You shook your head and unfolded the letter. It was the details of your mission, explaining everything that John had said. Near the bottom, there was another smaller section.

 

‘After the conclusion of this mission, DCS Linguistics Agent (f/n), (l/n) will remain in London on loan to the Metropolitan Police Service for a period up to, but not exceeding, one year. At the end of that period, possible reassignment or permanent appointment will be discussed.’

 

You dropped the letter, the paper fluttering harmlessly into your lap. Sherlock picked it up and scanned the contents, face wrinkling into a scowl towards the end.

 

“I told Mycroft 3 years. The man can run the entire British government, but he can’t negotiate the use of one employee from the Americans.” Sherlock folded the paper again with a grumble.  You watched him with disbelief. The man had just discussed your future as casually as he was ordering a coffee. He blinked at you when he noticed your flabbergasted look. “What?”

 

“Sherlock, what did you do? I can’t stay here, I have responsibilities back home. I have pets!” you exclaimed.

 

“This mission would have taken you at least 6 months to complete by yourself. And I mean that as a complement. After which, you would have undoubtedly flew back home to debrief, stayed home for a week, and then been sent out again.” He looked at your indignant face and rolled his eyes. “The DIA closed all of your accounts in preparation for the move, all of your funds have been transferred already. Mrs. Hudson has agreed to watch your animals until we get back. Once you return, she’ll give you the keys to 221C so that you can move the rest of your things in. We’ll only be gone for three days, five at the most. There...all of your problems are solved.” You ran a hand over your face in frustration.

 

“But...but why Holmes, why did you do all of this?” you hissed, watching at the stewardess gave you a sharp look. Sherlock frowned and looked away. “Answer me… Sherlock!”

 

“Because.” He said, looking past you to the window, where the view was beginning to accelerate on the tarmac. You frowned, leaning forward to reply, when his hand slapped over your mouth. "I don’t hate you.” You blinked, rendered speechless by him for the umpteenth time. Granted you hadn’t known the man for every long, but...that sounded almost like an admission. He cleared his throat. “Besides, John will become progressively busier with Mary, especially after the baby comes. And I’d rather not have to fly to America every time I wanted to talk to someone tolerable.” Sherlock removed his hand.

 

You began to respond but were stopped by the pressure of Sherlock’s mouth pressed firmly against yours. You closed your mouth, shivering in pleasure. When you pulled back, Sherlock was looking smugly down at you. Over his shoulder, you caught John’s flabbergasted expression. You snorted with laughter, burying your face in Sherlock’s coat. You felt him turn to his partner.

 

“It’s quite rude to stare, John.”  You burst into giggles at Sherlock’s disapproving tone. This was probably the worst, strangest vacation that you have ever been on.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So of you liked this story and you want something like it for yourself, you can go to the commission's page and make a donation!  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/3288473
> 
> All of th emoney goes toward Otis' surgery and the medication for his recovery Thanks so much!


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